


This Would Never Have Happened In Ireland

by Queemilia



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Fandom
Genre: Dead Men, M/M, Slow burn sexter, There is a plot in this, also there’s a fair amount of Scouting For Girls references, and Sexter stuff, evil villains and cat gods, god i love scouting for girls, i Miss ghastly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-08 23:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15254103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queemilia/pseuds/Queemilia
Summary: All Saracen did was get drunk in a pub.Suddenly he’s being dragged off to save his friend from random British aristocrats by a girl with a gut instinct that’s always right.This is most definitely Dexter Vex’s fault.





	1. Saracen Rue gets drunk as hell.

Saracen Rue was pissed. 

He had been told that he'd had too much to drink in... to be honest he wasn't entirely sure how many bars had told him to bugger off, but he was pretty sure it was more than three. 

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this shit-faced, it had been last weekend, but he'd got so drunk he couldn't remember it. Was that bad? Probably not. In Denmark people got drunk all the time, got so pissed they couldn't stand up straight, and forgot about loosing to Croatia in the football, or how bad the weather was, or whatever people wanted to forget in Denmark. When was the last time Saracen had been to Denmark? He wasn't sure. Recently enough, three years ago, two years ago?? Or maybe he'd gone last weekend when he'd managed to loose three days to being drunk. He didn't normally get this drunk more than once a month, but he had no reason to stay sober right now, and instead was hanging around in a Welsh pub, watching England play in the semis. Bloody English. 

It seemed that everyone else in the pub shared his sentiments, because loud raucous cheers filled the pub every time Croatia made a good tackle or scored. Saracen leaned towards the man beside him, a Welsh man who had chugged back more beers than Saracen,  
"Alright Tom?"  
The man glared at him, and took another swig of his beer  
"My name's George, for the fifth time!"  
Saracen giggled. When was the last time he'd giggled? It was such a pathetic way of laughing. He giggled again, and leaned to his other side.  
"You must be Tom then, awight mate?"

A pretty girl with reddish hair looked up at him.  
"No, surprisingly enough I'm not Tom. My name's November." She turned back to her phone, and continued scrolling through her contacts. Saracen was about to order another beer when something niggled at the back of his mind. That phone case... 

"That's not your phone case. That phone case belongs to Dexter!" Saracen felt rather pleased for figuring that out, like a detective. Maybe he could become a detective, like Skulduggery.

The girl, who's name Saracen couldn't remember, was looking at him in a way that made him a little uncomfortable  
"How do you know that?" She said slowly, her mouth twisting into a tiny smile.  
Saracen grinned at her. 

"I know things." he said, "I'm magic," Then killed himself laughing.  
Neither the girl, nor the man on the other side of him (who Saracen was pretty sure was called Tom) laughed.  
"You guys don't get it-" he continued though his laughter. "But I'm actually magic, it's not just an expression, it is an expression, but here it's not!"  
They still weren't laughing. Tom had moved his barstool a few inches away from him.  
"Geddit?" He asked the girl, "I'm magic! I actually am mmhphh-" 

The girl put her hand over his mouth and hissed something about not in front of the mortals in his ears, before dragging him outside.

The girl was very pretty. She only looked about twenty or so, but that could mean anything for a sorcerer. Was she a sorcerer? She had used the term mortal but.. wait what was her name? Sorcerers had different sorts of names compared to mortals, and Saracen could probably tell if she was a sorcerer seeing as he was practically a detective now. 

“Are you a sorcerer?”  
“Yes, now shhh.”

Saracen was proud of himself for finding out the truth with his amazing detective skills, he was the greatest detective of all time, better than Sherlock Holmes, better than James Bond, better than Miss. Marple. Was James Bond a detective? He looked at the girl who was dragging him to a car. His car! His lovely lovely car! 

“Why are you hugging the car?” The girl looked like she wanted to murder him, which was rude, he was a delight. Was it too late to start flirting with her? Probably not. 

“Is James Bond a detective,” He asked, an excellent question when seducing someone. The girl didn’t reply, but instead slapped him across the face. 

Ow.  
That hurt.  
“That was uncalled for!!” He snapped, rubbing his cheek, and the girl’s face was doing that thing where it try’s to hide a smile but it doesn’t really work. Saracen knew that face, whenever he and his friends had planned their mission during the long war they had spent most of the time making that face whenever Saracen contributed.  


“You’re a sorcerer, right? What’s your power? Do you know Dexter Vex? How did you know this was his phone? Are you willing to help him?” 

Saracen’s brain hurt trying to get his head round what was going on, some girl wanted him to help Dexter out. Or something. What was her first question? Had she fallen into his arms yet? Also who was winning the football, that was important! 

The girl sighed and raked her fingers through her hair. She was muttering to herself, maybe trying to cast a spell on Saracen! He flung his arms up, and shrieked, and the girl slapped him again. 

“My name is November. November Pseudo.” Said the girl, nodding at Saracen.  
Saracen nodded back.  
“Now tell me your name.” 

“I’m Saracen Rue,” he said, wondering if he should stop nodding, and then added “I know things”.  
He went to tap his nose, but he was still nodding, and ended up giving himself a nasty jab in the eye; much to the amusement of the girl, November. He ought to remember that. November. Got it. 

*************************  


Saracen woke up in the passenger seat of his car, shirtless, and with an ear splitting headache. There was a girl driving his car- November- he thought to himself, and sat up properly. “Where’s my shirt?” He asked, his voice ridiculously dry and croaky. The girl looked over at him for a second. 

“You’re awake.” She said, with zero enthusiasm, and Saracen felt a little offended at that. He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts a little, but instead made his headache worse. Bloody hangovers! 

“What’s- what’s happening?” He asked, using his index fingers to massage his temples. It was too sunny outside, the sun was hurting his eyes, and November had turned the radio over to the only station that stilled played Scouting For Girls in 2018. It was a good song, but the beat was making Saracen’s headache worse. He reached out to turn off the radio, and November slapped his hand away. 

“I’m driving, I choose the music, got it?” She looked in the mirror, swore loudly, swerved into a different lane, and then sung along to ‘Elvis Ain’t Dead’ as if nothing had happened. Who even listened to Scouting For Girls in 2018 anyway? 

“Who even listens to Scouting For Girls in 2018 anyway?” mumbled Saracen, and he folded his arms as he turned to look out the window. It didn’t look like they were in Wales anymore, but everywhere in the UK looked the same to him. He was about to ask again what was going on, when the song turned to ‘I’m Not Over You’. 

Was this a station that only played Scouting For Girls? 

He turned to November. “Is this a station that only plays Scouting For Girls?” He asked. 

November shook her head. “Its a CD I bought back when we stopped for petrol, you both were asleep.”  
“They still sell Scouting For Girls CD’s?”  
“... uh yeah, I bought Oasis as well.”  
“No one even likes- wait- we were both asleep!”  
Saracen swivelled around in his seat with great difficulty, to see Dexter Vex asleep in the back, looking a little bruised, and stark naked. 

“Why is he naked?” Asked Saracen, shifting back to face the front, “and when did we collect him?”

November smiled, and Saracen had a terrible feeling he’d done something really stupid whilst drunk. 

“He’s naked because that’s how my parents keep prisoners, there are clothes in the back for when he wakes up. We rescued him last night, and that’s why you’re shirtless. I must say I expected more from a fabled dead man.” 

Saracen was torn between wanting to know the story behind this, and not wanting to know the story behind this. He wasn’t given a choice however, because November had already launched into a recap of the night before. 

“So we drove down to my parents fortress, and you were being really drunk and annoying, so I told you I’d get a sensitive to poke around in your head, find out your power, and tell Dexter Vex if you didn’t shut up. You shut up pretty quickly after that.”  
That did, thought Saracen, sound like him, although how November knew how to threaten him, he had no idea.  
“So we got to the fortress, I told you to cause a distraction, you told me I was a distraction, then tried to slap me, missed, and fell over.”  
“Why did I try to slap you?”  
“Because I slapped you first. Anyway, you caused your distraction, I grabbed Dexter from the execution row, and we got back in the car and drove off.”  
Saracen nodded. His distraction had probably been amazing, and November wasn’t telling him what it was because she was jealous.  
“Why did you rescue Dexter?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Why did I help you rescue Dexter?”

November turned up the volume of the radio and started singing along ridiculously off key and out of tune. 

“November!” Yelling hurt Saracen’s head, as did November’s singing, the car radio, and stupid Roy Stride singing about needing a holiday. 

November took her eyes off the road and smiled at him impishly, “I didn’t have you pegged down as a FullMetal Alchemist fan,” She said, before turning back to the road, and ignoring the rude hand signs drivers were giving her. 

“Haha, no, I don't watch anime," began Saracen, desperately searching through his memories of the night before; he couldn’t see November’s face, but he was pretty sure she was smiling.  
“Well obviously you've heard of Alex Louis Armstrong,” She said, with the upmost amount of smugness.

“Please tell me I didn’t-“ Saracen felt sick to his stomach, if Dexter found out about this- if anyone found out about this- he would never live it down. 

“You ran out towards the guards and executioners, pulled off your shirt, and yelled ‘I’ll rescue all these people using techniques passed down the Armstrong line for generations!’” Said November, doing her best to stop herself from laughing. “You then flexed your not particularly muscular arms, and yelling ‘Where are my sparkles!! Where are my sparkles???’” 

Saracen Rue buried his head in his arms. At least she couldn’t prove it. "Some people tried to attack you, while others just stared while you tried to pick people up, You then spent a while flirting with a girl who tried to kill you- so I stopped laughing, grabbed you and Dexter, and voila." "We rescued Dexter from your parents?" asked Saracen, going back to the last bit of the conversation that had confused him. "My mother." said November, then "I'll explain later- you sleep more."

“What was the football score?” He asked eventually, trying to remember if he'd placed any bets on England loosing. 

“No idea.” Said November, and then  
“I hope England won.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSCmfIl-sHg
> 
> this is the link to the Armstrong thing


	2. Saracen Rue Never Wants To Listen To Oasis Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is very badly written because I wanted to explain some things, and didn’t know how else to. Sorry. Not much happens, Dexter still isn’t awake, sorry.

"Where are we going?" Asked Saracen, waking up again to gaze mindlessly out the window at the drizzle and the sheep. 

November, who had been singing along really badly to the Oasis CD she'd put on, finished the verse, and began tapping a rhythm completely different to the song that was playing.  
Saracen waited for her to get over 'how incredible this music was' and answer his question.  
He had been rudely awakened several times from a sharp turn or break knocking his head about because November kept closing her eyes to properly appreciate what she was listening to. 

"Where are we going, did you say?" November said, as 'Champagne Supernova' finished, much to Saracen's relief. "I have absolutely no idea."  
Saracen took a deep breath. Ok.  
"So, as we don't have a plan for where we're going, can I drive?"  
"You don't know the way,"  
"You just said-"  
November turned off the music, and pulled over and turned towards him. Something was happening. Maybe November would finally give him some answers. 

November fiddled with some of the bracelets she had around her wrists, and looked down at her lap, "have you heard of Familiae Cattus?" She asked, pulling a black and dark purple bracelet tight on her wrist, before loosening it. 

Saracen nodded slowly, everyone had heard of the Familiae Cattus, an elitist group of mages who had been blessed by a goddess to be part cat. The group was old, each new generation born with more powers similar to the goddesses own, and had a long time ago been involved in human sacrifice, capturing people and eating their magic, living as common house cats, then slowly causing more and more bad luck to befall the mortals who loved them, before eating them alive.  
The clan had offered support to Mevolent during the war, despite not being into The Church of The Faceless Ones, and Saracen was pretty sure they had only done it because they enjoyed controversy. Most of them had been killed in a battle against Lord Vile though, and the one or two that remained had fled. When it looked like Mevolent might win the war, a surviving member, Morwenna Scream, had hidden herself away in a castle somewhere, and his good friends Valkyrie and Skulduggery had tried to find her on several occasions. Each time they had failed. 

November continued, "I suppose you heard Morwenna was presumed dead?" Saracen nodded. 

"Well-" began November, taking off a bracelet and winding it around her finger, "actually she married, a man called Laetus Cephalos, and well, you know how the gifts of the Familiae Cattus are heridary-" November paused, and looked Saracen in the eye. He looked back, solemnly.  
"Morwenna Scream is my mother." Said November, "and she wants us dead." 

Saracen held up a hand. Last night he’d been drunk in a shitty Welsh pup. Now he was being told a crazy clan was after him.  
That sounded like song lyrics, probably better song lyrics than whatever Oasis song would come on next as well. 

“So you’re telling me,” he began, undoing his seatbelt, and properly facing November,  
“You’re telling me that you’re part of some crazy cat cult that’s somehow got to do with where we’re going?” 

November nodded. “Glad you understand,” She said, pulling the car back onto the road, which thankfully, was empty. She didn’t turn the radio back on though, which made Saracen assume the conversation wasn’t over yet. 

“Morwenna Scream had loads of catlike abilities, didn’t she?” Saracen asked, after five seconds of November looking like she was about to say something and then not. “Do you have those abilities, they are hereditary, aren’t they?” He asked, and November tugged a strand of her hair. 

Saracen was tempted to mention that maybe she wasn’t a good enough driver to take one hand off the steering wheel, but changed his mind. ‘Don’t annoy the person driving the car your in’ was a sound piece of advice introduced to him by Anton Shudder, and Saracen did not believe in disobeying the sayings of Anton Shudder. 

“Yeah... no.” Said November, “You see, my mum kidnaps people, and takes them to her dungeon to play with, like cats play with birds they catch. She would then either mate with them or beat them up. Then she’d kill them. Mortals gave her pretty weak children- some sorcerers were not much better.”  
“Oh...”  
“Yeah, my dad is some dead mortal, and I really am not that powerful. On the one hand my mother doesn't give two hoots about me, on the other I only get a small amount of the powers.”

Saracen tried to arrange his face into a neutral expression, one that wasn’t disgusted and freaked out by Dexter being captured by November’s mum. He failed miserably. 

“I can shift into a cat form, which would be more useful if it was a big cat, like a lion or tiger, not a small Siamese. My main thing heightened instincts that are very often right.”  
“Did you get the speed?”  
“No.”  
“Agility?”  
“No. But my hair grows pretty fast?" Saracen was not sure if that was a pro or a con.

November suddenly yanked the steering wheel to turn a corner, and Saracen was suddenly aware that he hadn’t done his seatbelt up again. He really hoped he didn’t die in this car, that would be an anticlimactic end to the life of Saracen Rue. 

November took a deep breath and began to explain her instincts thing more to Saracen. He only half listened, she said something about them telling her to rescue Dexter, but first go to that pub and then to take him with her. Saracen was partly insulted when she said she never would have taken him with her if not for a gut feel, but it did make the whole situation make a whole lot more sense. 

Apparently November’s gut feel was right ninety percent of the time, and she was essentially following it until a plan fell out the sky. Saracen nodded along at the right moments, and wondered what the football score had been. 

He was just imagining England being crushed by Croatia, when November said something that snapped him back into reality. 

“Cats have the disadvantage of no stamina- so we need to run all over the country until they stop chasing us- then kill Morwenna."p> "Is killing Morwenna entirely necessary? Can we not just go to Spain or something?" November laughed, "Morwenna will just kill a bunch of mortals out of frustration- our best hope is to kill her and bring the Sanctuary down on the rest. Unfortunately, the people in charge don't like you and don't like me- so if you have any friends they do like-" Saracen shook his head- if only he had stayed in Ireland this wouldn't have happened. Something far wore would have probably happened- Ireland was a mess- but Skul and Val could deal with it. It looked Like Saracen, November, and Dexter would be dealing with this though. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so so so sorry there isn’t any Sexter yet, IT WILL COME I PROMISE!!!  
> Also, serious question, does anyone like Scouting For Girls?


	3. The rather rude and unnecessary awakening of Dexter Vex.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dexter wakes up. Fun times guaranteed.

Dexter Vex was awakened rather rudely and unnecessarily by a very loud crunching sound he immediately identified as the unmistakable noise of Saracen eating crisps. The way Saracen ate crisps was possibly the third most annoying thing about him, which was how Dexter recognised its sound. While most people ate crisps in a perfectly normal way, put one in your mouth and chew it slowly so as not to disturb people; Saracen Rue would shovel handfuls of crisps into his mouth at one time, barely bothering to close his mouth as he crunched them loudly, almost saying 'I have crisps and you don't! Ha!" 

None of the other dead men ate crisps in such a ridiculous way, Ghastly for example, ate crisps in a beautiful, awe inspiring way. When Ghastly ate crisps one could barely tell he was eating them. Of course Ghastly was dead now, and incapable of eating crisps. In fact, Saracen and Valkyrie were the only dead man capable of eating crisps apart from him. But did Saracen treat this privilege well? Did Saracen understand that only three dead men were capable of eating crisps, and by eating them in such a blatantly disrespectful way he was essentially committing the cardinal sin? No. Of course not. He didn't care, just like he didn't care about so many things. Like he didn't care about disrespecting pizza.

Dexter’s eyelashes fluttered a little as he tried to prise his eyes open, they were all gluey and icky from sleep, and it was an arduous process. Once his eyes were open, he assessed his situation. There wasn't much to assess. He was in both pain and a car, and Saracen Rue was annoying him.  
This wasn't exactly a new situation.

His mouth was dry, and tasted like blood, and his throat hurt. He opened his mouth to speak, the cold air feeling horrible in his warm, dry mouth, and managed to croak out "Eat your crisps quieter," before deciding he desperately needed a glass of water. 

Saracen twizzled round in his chair, his mouth full of hula hoops, and his lips and chin covered in yellow dust. The driver stuck her head over the side of her seat, a pretty redhead who looked vaguely familiar,  
"You're right." She remarked, still looking at Dexter, who wanted to tell her to look at the bloody road, except his throat was far too dry.  
"He does eat his crisps too loudly." 

Saracen Rue suddenly leaned over her, and yanked the steering wheel to the left, keeping them on the windy English road.  
"Eyes on the road, you bloody lunatic," he said, and the bloody lunatic turned herself back around. 

A few minutes later they stopped, and Dexter Vex was dumped on a few coats by Saracen Rue. The girl the put her shirt under Dexter's head as a pillow, and started trying to drizzle water into his mouth. It was an odd roadside party, but luckily there weren't any people around to judge them. 

Dexter dribbled a little as he drunk, but the cool water felt so good against his hot throat. As he drunk, he noticed two things, one was that the girl looked an awful lot like his kidnapper, and the second was really odd- Saracen Rue was wearing a 'Go England!' football shirt, the sort that was being sold everywhere before the semi-finals. He wondered if they'd happened yet, and who had won. He hoped it was Croatia. 

"Why are you-" he choked on the water, and the girl sat him up further and patted his back.  
"Saracen why on Earth are you wearing an England football shirt?"

Saracen turned towards him, and grinned. God, Dexter had missed that grin, an easy, happy grin. It wasn't directed at Dexter though, it was directed at the girl behind him. You have a massive fight with a guy leading to you ignoring each other for four years, and suddenly a stupid ginger shows up and replaces you. 

"I lost my shirt saving your life." Said Saracen, grinning at the girl again, "November bought me this when she bought you some clothes, you're welcome, by the way."

Oh shit. Saracen had saved his life along with this girl- November? And now he was being all adorable and smiling and Dexter was not in the mood. 

November, as it happened, was also not in the mood, because she rather grumpily murmured "I saved your life, while he pretended to be Alex Louis Armstrong!" 

Dexter Vex rolled his shoulders back, wondered who Alex Louis Armstrong was, and sat up independently from November. It hurt, but it was bearable. He reached for the pants he'd been given, and frowned. They were a ridiculously bright shade of orange, and had tiny pictures of birds on the waistband. He had worn some pretty stupid underwear in his life, and other times been forced to go commando, but he had never worn any this particular shade before. These pants were so bright Anish Kapoor probably wasn’t allowed to look at them. 

Thankfully his jeans were just plain denim jeans, and the shirt he'd been provided with wasn't a 'Go England!' one. 

It had 'Hufflepuff And Proud' on the front, which was an unexpected bonus, especially as people always assumed he was a Gryffindor- not that Dexter gave that kind of thing much thought. He was a four hundred and something year old sorcerer who'd been on suicide missions, for goodness sake! He wasn't going to obsess over which house he was in in a book about magical school where witches flew on broomsticks! He was cooler than that. Waaay cooler than that. 

His muscles were tight, and he got to his feet, leaning on the car for support. His leg muscles really needed a stretch. 

Dressed only in the stupid bright orange pants, Dexter put one leg up against the car, and leant forward, keeping his hips square. The tightness in his leg eased, deep breath in, deep breath out. His body knew how to do this. His body was a temple, he could work out on muscle memory alone. 

November picked up her t-shirt, and dragged it over her head, before digging both hands into her hair and massaging her scalp. She looked tired, and Dexter wondered if maybe he should hug her.  
“So Dexter-“ she began as Dexter stretched out his calves, “-how the froop did you end up getting kidnapped, and why are you important?”  
“I’m sorry?” Dexter pulled his trousers over his calves and wiggled around a little to get them up. November inhaled, and dropped her hands to her thighs. 

“I’ve just risked everything, everything for two guys I met for the first time yesterday, so you better be important!”  
“I’m really sorry, but umm.. I’m going to need a bit of an explanation, and some food, before I’m any use to you.” 

November eyed him up and down, before grunting, and they both got in the car. Saracen Rue, who had gone into a sort of trance when Dexter had started stretching, hurriedly got in the back. How had he been demoted this far down the seating plan already?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anish Kapoor is an artist who bought the rights to the blackest black ever created so no other artist could use it. He’s a sculptor, and really rich. Anyway this guy called Stuart Semple thought, hang on, this isn’t fair, so he created a colour which is the pinkest pink to ever pink, and can be used by anyone who isn’t Anish Kapoor, unless Anish Kapoor gave back the rights to the black. Anyway a load of other stuff happened, Anish Kapoor now can’t use loads of colours created by Stuart Semple, and is still rich, has a knighthood, and gets angry over people giving his sculptures nicknames.


	4. Dexter Vex is perfectly ok, and it seems like the torture really wasn’t that bad, which is always good.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing happens.  
> That’s a lie, Dexter and Saracen make up.

Saracen was sulking. Last time he and Dexter had ignored each other, it had been for two years, and had been because Saracen had borrowed a t-shirt that Prince had left on Dexter's bedroom floor without asking, then lost it. It had been a nice t-shirt, one that probably had sentimental value to Dexter, but Saracen had never been that into Prince, and had taken the t-shirt because it was soft and it was there and it was cleaner than some of the others that were strewn across Dexter's bedroom. 

He'd then left it in some random girls flat, and part of him hoped she'd left it somewhere else and continued the chain. She probably hadn't though, she'd probably binned it. Shame really. 

Anyway once Dexter had slept with some other pop-star he idolised, and tracked down and killed some emo trolls who'd been killing mortals and sacrificing them because "no one understands us!", he'd got over it, and they'd spent a few weeks traveling around Denmark together, catching up. It had been a while ago, but he was pretty sure they'd slept together as well, although that might have been a different time they'd gone to Denmark. 

This time though, they hadn't done the whole shoulder bumping-sorry-forgiveness- catching up over a cup of tea routine, mainly because they were on the run. They hadn't spoken properly since their last fight, and Saracen didn't like this uncertainty. He liked knowing things. 

Unfortunately the only thing he knew was that Dexter's Scouting For Girls phase had actually not been a phase, and he and November were both singing along to 'I Wish I Was James Bond' on completely different keys. They kept trying to harmonise, key word try, It was pretty clear neither of them would be on X-factor anytime soon. 

He decided that he hated Scouting For Girls and all who played their music. 

"November?" He asked innocently, and immediately regretted it when she turned around to look at him. Who had taught this girl to drive? Luckily they were stuck in traffic on the M23, and weren't actually moving, but still.  
"Yes?" she said, "whaddahya want?"  
"Can you put on some dif-"  
November immediately turned back to face the front, and started singing along loudly, despite it being a list of names she got entirely wrong. Subtle. 

"In case either of you forgot," Said Saracen loudly to no one in particular, "this is actually my car." It wasn't, it was Anton Shudder's car for when the Hotel landed in England and he needed a car, but Anton was dead and Saracen had picked up the keys before anyone else could. Anton had been his friend first./p>

November was murdering 'She's So Lovely', and Dexter was writhing in his seat, attempting to swing his hips. Neither of them paid him any attention, and Dexter began to root around in his glove box. 

Saracen crossed his fingers, hoping that he'd hidden his Percy Pigs well enough.  
Apparently he hadn't. 

"C'n I have a Percy Pig, Dexter?" Asked November, pausing her rendition of a song Saracen used to like, and Saracen felt a little indignant at this. Those were not Dexter's goddam Percy Pigs! 

"Those are actually my Percy Pigs." He said, emphasising the 'my'. He hoped they'd give him the packet, but instead November just said-  
"Sorry, can I have one of Saracen's Percy Pigs, Dexter?" 

He glowered at both of them, and then held out his hand so Dexter could give him some.  
*********************

They passed through a few towns, before November deemed one good enough to stop in. Haselmere. It was a small place, and it was raining. November lead them into a small tea shop, Caricoli, and then left to go and buy things with Saracen's money. 

They ordered tea, and full English breakfasts, which were essentially just full Irish breakfasts, except you paid with pounds instead of Euros. Bloody English, stealing all their ideas. 

It wasn't until they'd both had several cups of tea and two plates of food that Dexter started to speak.  
"Pizza is a sacred food created in Italy. Defacing it with pineapples is just wrong!" "but the sweet balances out the savoury!" "You should never mix savoury and sweet!" "You dip jammy dodgers in your tea!" "That's different!" "How??" Dexter was saved from answering by the waitress returning with more tea, Saracen took a deep slug of his tea, burned his tongue, and properly looked at Dexter. His hair had grown a bit since Saracen had last seen him, and he hadn't shaved for a few days. There were prominent dark circles under his eyes, and he looked tired. cute and surprisingly ok for someone who'd just been rescued. 

"Are you ok?" He asked, more gently, and Dexter put all four chair legs back on the ground and exhaled loudly. 

  "It wasn't like anything I've ever been through before."  said Dexter, once the waitress had left. "Torture-wise, I mean. They weren't trying to get information out of me, or hurt me particularly, we were just.. playing?" 

Dexter paused to burn his tongue on the tea he'd just been given- and despite having done the same a moment earlier, Saracen laughed. 

"Well you don't look particularly beaten up!" He said, some of his happy-friendliness easing back into his voice. Dexter obviously noticed this, his face looked less guarded, his eyes less heavy. 

“Eh, they healed all their prisoners each night- and the beating wasn’t too bad. It felt like I was just being practised on. Like they were practicing against me.”

Saracen nodded thoughtfully. He had absolutely no idea why a random clan of cat-people would practice fighting against Dexter Vex, or why they’d suddenly decide to kill him. His brain hurt thinking about it, although that may have just been the hangover, and he decided to change the subject. 

“Wanna loose at naughts and crosses?” He asked pulling a slightly wrinkled napkin towards him and sketching out a grid. 

Dexter smiled, a genuine happy smile, pleased to be in the company of his best friend. 

“Bags crosses!” He said, knocking Saracen’s hand out the way.  
“Noughts are for losers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took awhile, I was in Sweden.  
> Then I had a Tae Kwon Do grading.  
> Then I had a few days of art camp. 
> 
> But I did it! 
> 
> Also, fun fact: there are so many Joe and The Juices in Sweden.  
> So many.  
> I’ve now tried most of the menu.


	5. You Got A Fast Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my brain is playing an advert for cereal on loop, and that was my thought process writing this.  
> here is the advert if you hate yourself  
> https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=honey+pops+advert&view=detail&mid=EAE60047BE7709DE39EBEAE60047BE7709DE39EB&FORM=VIRE

The biggest problem with noughts and crosses, thought Dexter as he lost another game, was that it left far too much room for Saracen to "think outside the box" and make a three in a row with a symbol placed outside the literal grid. It was annoying, especially as Saracen laughed like drain every time he cheated to win in this way. For a moment, Dexter thought about where the phrase "laugh like a drain" had come from- the image of a drain was not one most people associated with laughter, but then he realised he didn't really care. The air conditioning was not working particularly well, as England really was not equipped to deal with a heatwave, and he had just been tortured. Sure, he had had worse, but torture is not exactly the sort of thing you come out of beaming. At least not on the inside- like all the Dead Men, like all seasoned warriors, Dexter was used to making light of a situation and playing things off as no big deal to try and convince himself and others that they weren't. 

 

By the time Saracen had grown bored of flirting with the waitress, sweat was dripping down the back of Dexter's neck, and the outside world was even hotter. Saracen looked uncomfortable, and Dexter wondered if it was too anti social to remove his top. Hopeless had once told him that no true gentleman would remove his shirt in public, it was rude and unnecessary and no one wants to see your sweaty nipples while they are walking about town. Hopeless however, had died many years ago, and Dexter was not entirely sure this advice still applied- it was hotter now. But Hopeless was clever and talented, and had been pretty good at advice- so Dexter kept his top on. If Saracen Rue had been aware of the inner turmoil in Dexter's head- to remove his shirt or not to remove his shirt, he would have been disappointed with the conclusion Dexter came to. No one with a brain would pass up a chance to look at Dexter Vex's abs- and Saracen liked to think he had somewhat of a brain. Unfortunately, although Saracen knew a lot of things, Dexter's mind was not always one of them. November's whereabouts were also a mystery to him, as they wondered down the high street talking about whether James Bond was a detective or not. 

Eventually, they found November in a small music shop called Chamberlain's, browsing CDs. She had tied a bandana around the front of her hair to hide her greasy roots, and wasn't wearing any shoes. Fair enough, thought Dexter, wishing he was somewhere cooler. Up a mountain perhaps- he did enjoy mountains, they were fun and beautiful and full of monsters. After this, Dexter decided, he was going to climb another mountain. After this... he had escaped from the clutches of evil, and although November seemed to think he had some kind of importance, Dexter honestly didn't think so. He had been kidnapped due to circumstance, and tortured for fun. Yes, that was sick and twisted, and Dexter's moral code did object to it, but they could call the sanctuary for help. This did not have to be a big deal. As much as Dexter enjoyed a good mission, he preferred them taking place with scenic views and opportunities to laugh with his friends and rely on his incredible physical ability. Preferably there would be no moral grey areas and a monster to punch. 

Yeah, that would be Dexter's ideal mission- and he could download the Mission Impossible theme to play as he blasted the monster as well. 

 

"I was kidnapped by the Familae Cattus?" asked Dexter, trying to understand why he was still allive. They were back in the car, this time listening to Tracy Chapman, which was appreciated by Saracen, and November was doing her best to explain something she didn't fully understand herself. 

"Yes- but you said it was random?"

"I think?" Dexter did think. He struggled to get his head around everything that was going on, before promptly giving up and grabbing a jaffa cake from the open packet November was steadily working through as she drove. She had picked up a rather large amount of food from tesco, one bag of sweets for he journey, and two bags of food-food for actual meals. The sweet stash was already looking a little depleated as neither November or Saracen had any self control. 

 

"Ok." began November, raking her hand through her hair. No wonder it was looking so greasy the amount she fiddled with it. "Ok." she continued, a Dexter felt as though she was close to a mental breakdown.

"We are going to go to the Isle of Wight. Then we are going to phone the Sanctuary and explain what is going on and get everyone arrested. Then we are going to figure out why you two are so important."

"I'm ridiculously important." said Saracen, dangling a Colin the Caterpillar into his mouth, and nodding. Dexter couldn't help but agree.

"We're Dead Men. We're the backbones of society." He then snatched the last jaffa cake before either of the others could get near it.

 

November gave him a disappointed look, and turned the music up.


	6. Weed Nov? Really?

"Truth or dare?" called November from where she lay sprawled across the backseat of the car, apparently deciding that now the vague idea of a plan was in place, her instinctive driving was no longer needed. Saracen had immediately taken over driving, and had put on one of his Dolly Parton CDs.  
"Truth," called Dexter, whose turn it was to be asked.  
"How do you want to die?"  
Saracen watched Dexter pretend to ponder this question for a moment, as if he and the other Dead Men hadn't spent nights discussing this very question. True, it had been during a war a hundred or so years ago, so long ago Larrikin had still been alive- but they had discussed it over and over. It was hard not to discuss your own mortality when everyday you were made increasingly more aware of how fragile it was. Especially when everyday another one of your friends dies.  
"Peacefully in my sleep next to someone who loves me," said Dexter, his answer not having changed for hundreds of years. Despite being an adventurer who had once jumped of a cliff yelling "Ghastly, catch me!" and laughing- he was extremely sentimental. Saracen and Larrikin when asked the death question had launched into extreme shaggy dog stories, doing their best to out do each other in length.  
"Saracen!" called November, although her mouth was full of sherbet lemons so it came out more like "Sagashmen"  
"Yes,"  
"How do you want to die?"  
Saracen was not entirely sure that truth or dare worked like that, wasn't it Dexter's turn to ask him something? Nevertheless, Saracen had a shaggy dog story to deliver.  
"Well, I want to be in a freak yachting accident, but that's not what kills me, instead the yacht will be eaten by a shark, but that's not what kills me, I escape the shark after loosing a leg, and am captured by an eagle, but that's not what kills me, the eagle drops me into a pool of acid, but that's not what kills me, a pack of wolves grab me, and we have a fight to the death- I loose a hand- but I survive, and limp off, loosing blood. But I'm not dead."  
He paused for effect, before saying  
"Yet."  
Dexter mock groaned, and turned back towards November  
"When we had time, back during the war against Mevolent, Saracen and Larrikin would come up with long dramatic deaths they wanted to experience."  
"Oh yeah?"  
"Yeah- Anton would say that if they didn't shut up he'd be how they died,"  
Saracen grinned, remembering evenings with them all drunk around the fire, Larrikin leaning against Anton, Erskine and Skulduggery having play fights with the fire, Dexter always getting up to grab more liquor because if Saracen went he'd get distracted flirting and never come back.  
That'd been before Erskine had had Anton beheaded. Friendships don't recover after something like that.  
"Truth or Dare, November," said Saracen, hoping desperately that she'd choose truth. How the hell did you ask dares in a car?  
"Dare," She said.  
Fuck this.  
"We should play twenty questions instead."  
November snorted from the back seat, and pulled out a bag of green things.  
"We should play twenty questions high."  
Saracen didn't get high often. A few years ago he'd dated a girl who enjoyed sex whilst high and that had probably been the last time he'd had weed. Was this the right time- they still had a lot of driving to do- they may have to fight if something happened- but fuck Saracen was tired of being responsible.  
"Dex, getting high, yay or nay?"  
"We haven't got far to go have we? I mean, we're practically at the ferry."  
November began rooting around in the black bag she'd bought back in town and pulled out a small plastic bag, "so that's a yes then?  
I bought edibles so they'll take a while to kick in,"  
Dexter sniffed the bag suspiciously before taking one, which comforted Saracen somewhat before taking his. At first nothing happened, and they played twenty questions as normal- Dexter trying to discreetly find out Saracen's magic, Saracen asking questions that he knew would make Dexter blush, November being ridiculously vague about her past... normal. But slowly, as the got on the ferry perhaps- or maybe when the boat left and they stood out at the top, feeling the sea foam on their faces and the wind in their hair. Whenever it was, about fifteen minutes into the boat trip they were all high as fuck and giggling at every little thing.  
"Ok now I have a" giggle "question, for both of you," Saracen said, as the wondered back down deck in search off food.  
"Who was your first kiss?"  
"Your mum," Said November instantly, and that set them off giggling again- getting odd looks from the other passengers.  
"No no no but actually it was," November gazed into space for a few seconds, "it was this girl I met at uni... the first time I went..." November trailed off, giggling a little, but not happily.  
"It was the 70s and a boy spray painted 'Dyke!' across the door to my room."  
"I'm going to.." giggle "fuck him up," Said Dexter, putting his arm around November.  
"Dead men stick together!"  
"Don't worry," Said November dreamily, "my mother already fucked him up."  
This was hilarious for some reason, and they lay in a heap on the ground giggling while parents moved their children around them. No one gave a second thought to what this might have meant- and everyone ignored Dexter's dead men comment. In the end dead men didn't stick together. And November was not a dead man.  
They still hadn't come down from the high when the ferry was pulling up to the shore, and November had eaten several bowls of pasta which she said normally helped her come down. Saracen couldn't see what the issue was. Yeah he was high, yeah some evil guys were after them, but they had a solid plan. Hide on the Isle of Wight where they couldn't be tracked, wait Morwenna did something to summon November, punch a bunch of people and deliver them to the English sanctuary as a present.  
"Dexter," Saracen wrapped an arm around his tall muscly friend. And handsome. So handsome. "Has a house here. So we can stay," he giggled, before lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper "in luxury!"  
"It's not exactly luxury- or a house." Dexter, who was for some reason the most sober out of the three of them wrapped his own arm around Saracen, who was trying to walk with his face buried in Dexter's chest and both his arms around his back.  
"Saracen-"  
"I demand to be carried!"  
Dexter giggled, and hugged his friend. "We're not going anywhere," he giggled again.  
"And we have a car."  
November was sitting on the banisters and guzzling her fifth bowel of pasta. Food was included in the ferry tickets and November was not about to let that go to waste.  
"You have a house, Dexy's Midnight Runners?" She asked, carbonara sauce dripping down her chin and onto her top.  
"I have an apartment that no one has lived in since that time Anton Shudder got left behind by his hotel. Honestly it's probably full of squaters." Dexter gently prised Saracen off from around his waist as they headed back to the car.  
The gargantuan amount of pasta November had eaten, and the several peppercorns Saracen's tastes buds had cried watching her eat had started to bring her down by the time they got to the car, and despite Dexter seemly the soberest of them all, and knowing exactly where they were going, she insisted on driving. 

Saracen flopped into the backseat of his car and immediately fell asleep.


	7. Ah fuck I can’t believe you’ve done this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically more filler, they get to Dexy’s flat, blah blah blah.

When Dexter woke up he was drooling into Saracen's elbow, and had a clump of red hair in his mouth. Slowly he lifted his head, spitting out the hair, trying to disentangle himself without waking the other up. Saracen rolled over and snored slightly, and November didn't even move. 

Reaching for his shirt, Dexter yawned, and wondered into his kitchen, where a note was pinned to the fridge.   
A note.   
The last person who'd been here had been Anton Shudder, which meant the note was probably from him. 

Dexter turned around and walked out of his kitchen. He wondered if Anton has woken up drooling into one of Dexter's pillows before he'd left, if he'd changed the sheets or if they might still have a trace of his scent left.   
Who was he kidding. Anton would have changed the sheets. 

Taking a deep breath, Dexter composed himself. Anton hadn't been dead for long, but he could get through this. His friends died all the time. Walking back into his kitchen, Dexter pulled the note off the fridge and put it in the waistband of his pants. Not glamorous, but it was too early for trousers and none of his other clothes had pockets. He couldn't have just read the note. It contained what were possibly the last words he'd receive from Anton Shudder. 

Of course it could not be from Anton at all, but that would be cruel. 

Instead of thinking about that, Dexter thought about the magnet that had attached it to the fridge. It wasn't one of his magnets, it was a smallish black one that reflected the light. Interesting. Perhaps Anton has bought it specifically to pin the note to the fridge. Or perhaps he'd just had it on him. Or perhaps someone else had bought it for-

Dexter couldn't bear it any longer, and pulled the note out. Smoothing it out he sat down to read it. 

Dear Dexter,  
Thank you for letting me stay at your flat, I had to ask a few uni squatters to leave- have you never heard of locking seals? Apart from that I had a very pleasant stay, and I decided to tidy up a little for you.   
Thanks again, I hope you find out Saracen's power soon!   
Anton. 

Dexter wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Anton had written this years ago, not as a final goodbye before he died, but as a friendly thank you. Anton had never said goodbye to Dexter, neither had Ghastly, or Hopeless or Larrikin or anyone. And he pushed through because his other option was apparently to become consumed by bitterness and rage like Skulduggery until some teenager pulled him out of it. 

No. Dexter stood up and dumped the note in the bin. Wallowing in sadness was for later, now was breakfast. 

Writing his own note on a pad of paper, Dexter decided that he would write a proper goodbye just in case. 

Dear Saracen,   
Your my best friend, and the best guy I ever shagged. I'll really really miss you if I die or you die. Also if these are the last words you hear from me, goodbye. I love you.   
Love Dexter.   
Ps, I only went to get breakfast, should be back soon, if I'm not remember me. 

Was it a tad over dramatic? Yes. Was it necessary? No. Still, Dexter stuck it to the fridge with the magnet and walked out into the crisp morning air to buy some pastry's for breakfast. 

When he got back, both November and Saracen were still asleep and he binned his note. He had used the wrong you're anyway. 

************

"So Dexter," Said Saracen, with a mouthful of croissant, "how come your flat is so clean."   
Dexter put down his Irish coffee and smiled.   
"I am incredibly tidy, and am shocked to hear you believe otherwise."  
Saracen snorted. "You're surface level tidy, once I found half a cake under your bed that you'd hidden there several weeks prior."  
"I was busy!"   
"Sure." 

Dexter took another sip of his Irish coffee, the whiskey making him feel relaxed and happy. "Anton tidied it when he was here last."  
Saracen smiled, a small smile that probably meant he was thinking about Anton.   
“Anton Shudder- was he a neat freak then?” Asked November, breaking off another section of her pain au chocolat.   
“Not a neat freak exactly...” Dexter trailed off, wondering how to describe Anton’s cleaning habits. 

“If there was mess he would just tidy it up,” Saracen tried to explain, “it wasn’t that mess bothered him, he just cleaned up for the sake of it.” 

“I could do with someone like that.” November smirked. “I’ll go and see if we left anything in the car, you two phone the sanctuary. Soon we can go home.” 

November got up and left, while Saracen and Dexter continued to talk about their old friends, and that time Hopeless and Ravel had got so drunk they’d almost invented karaoke. They’d been talking for about half an hour when they realised November should have been back, and went down to the car to find her, not thinking much of it. 

November lay sprawled on the floor, knife in her back, blood drippings onto the pavement. Dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone like November? I’m sorry if you did.   
> I loved her, but I suppose now she is a dead man


End file.
